


It Never Reached You

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Communication Failure, Depression, M/M, Sad, Sadstuck, Suicide, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hates you. You know that. You see it all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He hates you. You’ve always known. It’s one of those facts in your life that will never change.

 

You see it all the time. Like the time he avoided you for days after you actually had a decent conversation. No, come to think of it, you probably said something wrong to make him pissed and he gave up, deciding it wasn’t worth his time to deal with someone as deplorable as you.

 

There’s also the way he talks to you, like he could care less. He never really cares about anything unless it’s his brother or his other friends. His normal friends. The ones that aren’t fuckups like you.

 

And there’s the way he talks in those long-winded metaphors. He just does it for his own amusement, since he can’t stand you and would rather you mirror his own hatred. He just thinks it’s beneath him to show anger. So he gets you to show anger. And it keeps him thinking that he’s better and that you’re just some waste of flesh that he occasionally speaks to, just to remind of your worthlessness.

 

But there’s also how he pretends to be nice to you. Those odd occasions when he does something nice and considerate. Well, you aren’t fooled. Nobody would ever do something nice for you. You’re an asshole to everyone you meet, and they give up. You can’t trust anyone because the people you used to think you could trust abandoned you. They destroyed you from the inside out, and halfway through, you decided to help it along.

 

At least doing it to yourself left you with a mocking illusion of control over your life.

 

That was another constant truth of your life. No, it still is. You still do it. You can’t stop. It’s not that hard to hide. Nobody cares enough to ask.

 

That means that nobody cares enough to know you. Nobody cares enough to think of you. Nobody cares enough to miss you once you’re gone, which will be soon.

 

It’s not a huge loss.

 

And it’s not a shocking fact.

 

It still hurts somehow.

 

Thinking of these things, of him, of how you got to this place. It makes your heart clench in on itself. It makes your eyes burn and wetness grows. Your vision of the hungry water dozens of feet below blurs and warps. It makes your breath catch and you take one hand away from the rail to rub at your face.

 

Why are you thinking of him though?

 

Because of that stupid attraction to him? Because of how much you long for his words, even when you know he’s only saying them to cut you down? Because of how you think of his beautiful, flawless body when you’re laying, twisted in your sheets at night?

 

Because of how much you wish he would magically appear right now and pull you away from the rail and kiss you and tell you he loved you and made everything better? How you wished that he would kiss your scars and make them disappear and lead you back to your apartment and get rid of the self-hate journals and the razors and the lighters?

 

It’s not going to happen though.

 

You drive the final nail in your watery coffin with that truth.

 

He hates you.

 

You crawl over the railing and lean towards the water. It comes fast and you barely have time to gasp out a pained, frightened sob before your body smashes against the surface.

 

……………

 

He hates you.

 

He shows it to you all the time. All the things he does when you’re around him.

 

Hell, he says it to you all the time. He can’t stand you. He wishes you would just leave him alone. He wants you to find something else to do with your time, other than trying to make casual conversation with him, trying to pry your way into something like friendship. When all you’d want is to talk with him without fighting your way past his pure loathing, he lashes back and sets up more walls that you can’t break down by trying to play it cool.

 

You don’t want him to shut you out completely, so you try hard. You try to make it seem like nothing bothers you, when every insult and glare and cold shoulder and moment of silence stabs another needle into your heart.

 

You give anything to see him relaxed because of you, to see him smile because of you.

 

It’s hard. You don’t really understand how to deal with people very much. And he’s just so different from everyone else. He wears his emotions like a suit of armor, but you don’t know what’s real and what’s just a front. You can’t begin to imagine how to strip that away and touch what’s inside, what’s really him.

 

You believe that you’ve seen glimpses, and it just makes you love him more.

 

It makes you long even more to endure the pain for the sake of discovering something truly beautiful.

 

Maybe some of the worst pain is the realization that he doesn’t love himself. Well, it’s hard to love yourself in the first place, but he seems like he’s never once considered himself a decent person. It breaks your heart and you wish you could drop the cushions that you put up around him to avoid hurting him and shake him and kiss him and tell him how wrong he is. He is beautiful. He is so, so worth people’s time and love.

 

You wish you knew how to say that to him.

 

Maybe it’s time you just do it. Call him over and hold him and be serious and drop your cool image and tell him that he can trust you.

 

Things will change, but you’re sure you can work with it.

 

It’s time to stop fearing what you might lose and hope for what you might gain.

 

You might be able to tell him how much you love him.

 

You stop walking and take out your phone, staring at the keys for an eternity, rehearsing things in your head.

 

“come to my place in an hour theres something important i have to tell you”

 

You wait for the message to send. A notification finally appears:

 

‘Message not delivered.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sads. No happys.

“What do you mean by ‘not delivered’?”

 

You try to send the message three more times and you get the same notification each time. Frustrated, you shove the phone back in your pocket and set off in the direction of his apartment. 

 

The battery is probably dead. Or he blocked you. The latter possibility wouldn’t surprise you, as you remember how vehemently he shoved you away that last time you saw him. What, was that three days ago now? Time sure flies.

 

It takes you about twenty minutes to reach the apartment, and you try to send the message again twice while waiting to cross certain streets. The same thing shows up, and it’s beginning to annoy you.

 

‘Message not delivered.’

 

You climb the five flights of stairs to his floor and stand in front of his door. You sigh, thinking of what you’ll complain about once he opens his door. He has the night shift at his work, so you know he’s not working. And he gets his groceries in the mornings, before it gets hot. He’s definitely here. 

 

You could always tell him how you feel at his place. It might be a little painful getting shoved away here and having to walk the walk of embarrassment and shame back to your apartment, but at least Karkat won’t feel as awkward. If some miracle happens, he might be in a good mood and he might set aside his unending hatred and be level-headed about this whole thing. It’s happened once or twice before. You think.

 

You knock on the door and wait for him to answer.

 

Ten minutes pass.

 

You knock every half-minute.

 

He must really hate you. Or he’s in a bad mood. No, he must hate you.

 

Though you haven’t heard any sounds of movement from beyond the door.

 

You try calling his phone.

 

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.”

 

You try again. 

 

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.”

 

Come to think of it, if his phone is dead, he’s not going to answer a call. Fucking damn it.

 

You think about breaking into the place. He might be asleep. Maybe he needs sleeping pills to deal with the noise outside his apartment. Cheap-ass location, but it’s a pretty safe neighborhood, so you can see why he lives here.

 

No. That wouldn’t really start the mood as very hospitable. Breaking into a dude’s place--a dude who hates you--to tell him you’re madly in love with him and you think he needs to just chill and relax and stop drinking so much goddamn coffee and the world would be so much better and happier and probably stupidly sparkly too. And to tell him that you two should go out and kiss and fuck sometime. Except that last part should be omitted shouldn’t it?

 

You heave a heavy sigh, try knocking again and walk away. You guess you can save this for another day?

 

............

 

You don’t watch the news at night. It’s always boring. 

 

Your brother apparently does, though.

 

He calls you right as you’re opening a can of soup to pour into a small saucepot over the stove. You answer, because it’s pretty unusual for him to actually call you.

 

“Dave,” he says and you put the can down slowly. He’s way too serious. Not that casual kind of serious.

 

“Turn on Channel 7 News. Now.” 

 

He hangs up and you do as he says without question. The first thing you see is the picture. An enlarged picture from a driver’s license. You sit down slowly as you read the caption to the current story below in shock.

 

‘Another Jumper’s Body Recovered’

 

“--know anything about this man, please contact the Sheriff’s Department.” The woman is talking, but it was taking way too long to process this.

 

If you read the caption first, you wouldn’t have recognized the picture. But you know that face. You know the way the eyebrows knit together all the time and the mouth is constantly frowning and the soft brown skin and dark messy hair and even that silly turtleneck that has no place being worn in this weather. You know the... jumper.

 

Karkat. 

 

It takes you a while to pick up the phone. And a lot longer to remember the number for the Sheriff’s Department. You can’t see the numbers anymore through the flood burning at your eyes and you drop the phone and scream. 

 

You don’t want to confess your feelings to a body in a morgue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is depressing.
> 
> Also on my [tumblr](http://maniccrocodilian.tumblr.com/post/56296634213/it-never-reached-you-part-2).


End file.
